


The Press of Duty

by Jedi Buttercup (jedibuttercup)



Series: So Called Chaos [3]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Gen, Introspection, Missing Scene, Recovery, Wordcount: 10.000-30.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-15
Updated: 2009-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedibuttercup/pseuds/Jedi%20Buttercup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was still the captain of the <i>Enterprise</i>, however long that might last. And the Captain could never let his crew see him bleed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Press of Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Several Pike-centric missing scenes from the movie, with bonus Jim and Bones. The quote credited to 'Phil Boyce' is from the TOS script of "The Menagerie".

It took several days for the _Enterprise_, running solely on impulse engines, to limp back to Starbase One after the destruction of the _Narada_. Christopher Pike spent those long hours mostly on his back, freed from the Centaurian slug the _Narada_'s captain had infected him with but not the damage it had done to his nervous system, staring up at the sickbay ceiling and distracting himself with reports of everything he'd missed.

The Acting CMO, Dr. McCoy-- one last fist to the gut, that, finding yet another cadet filling the emptied shoes of one of his officers-- had given him a brief overview of recent events before sedating him for surgery. Commander Spock had been waiting when he'd awakened, hours later; Spock's report had been much more thorough than the doctor's, not to mention less peppered with colorful metaphor, but no less astonishing in its details. Pike suspected that Lieutenant Kirk's version of events-- Acting Captain Kirk's, for those last few hours before Pike's rescue-- would wind up being even stranger yet.

He'd have to wait to hear it, though. Wonder of wonders, the boy seemed to have not only pulled his act together in the heat of battle, something Pike had always suspected he had in him, but also in the more ordinary details of leadership: coordinating with the ship's departments to ensure they presented their best possible face upon arrival at spacedock, checking on the comfort of the Vulcan refugees, composing his own commendations for the men and women he'd been so briefly in charge of, and all the million and one other things that elevated a true commander above the chaff that filled too many chairs in the 'Fleet.

Fewer chairs, after today. Six starships gone in the blink of an eye: six captains, their officers, and eighty percent of the Academy's graduating class with them. Pike blocked that line of thought quickly, blinking away the warmth that prickled in the corners of his eyes; it was not yet time to grieve, to think of all the eager young faces and old friends they'd lost that day.

No; there were other things to be done before he let himself dwell on the lives consumed in the fires of Nero's insanity. Reports to be assembled, recommendations to compose for Command. As the seniormost surviving officer of the massacred Home Fleet, by rank and almost certainly by age as well, he had no doubt his opinion would have a significant impact on whatever commendations or censures the Admiralty chose to give in the wake of their Pyrrhic mission.

He shifted a little on the biobed, trying to ease the painful tingling in his legs that had defied McCoy's best attempts at healing, and tapped a few commands on the dataslate he'd been allowed. Ship's logs had been somewhat disordered since the last change of command, understandably, but what there was, was remarkably thorough; for a crew composed primarily of hastily commissioned cadets, they'd performed their duties admirably, better than any captain could possibly have asked of them.

...One unauthorized stowaway cadet aside.

Pike had hoped to see Kirk in command of a starship one day, but not so soon; not a mere three years after his first glimpse of all that raw potential bleeding away in a bar in rural Iowa. He wasn't sure what exactly he'd been expecting when he'd named the young man Acting First Officer, but it certainly hadn't been _that_. It was unbelievable; mind-boggling, especially in light of the litany of rash actions, both brilliant and otherwise, that had lifted Kirk to that position. Attempted mutiny, for God's sake!

And yet-- the young man who'd been on the verge of losing his berth at the Academy less than two days ago for refusing to submit to a no-win scenario had proven his thesis in the most conclusive of ways. He'd pulled improbable victory from the jaws of near-certain defeat, saving not only the _Enterprise_, but Earth itself and the Federation as a whole from destruction at the hands of a Romulan madman.

They'd been too late for Vulcan, and the impact of that loss was only going to grow in the days to come. Half the Federation's foundation had just crumbled and fallen to dust. But the fact that the destruction had been limited to that one world could be laid at the feet of this crew: bereft of most of their experienced officers, thrown into situations no simulation could possibly have prepared them for, and led by a brash young mastermind with more balls than common sense, they had done the impossible.

If that didn't give an old man hope for the future, he didn't know what would.

He frowned a little, thoughtfully, as he tapped through the string of reports. Spock had adequately covered the sequence of events, but it was the smaller moments he was looking for now. Specific achievements, signs of excellent officers performing above and beyond the call of duty.

Ensign Chekov, displaying the prodigious talent he'd been recruited for at a ridiculously young age, exercising both tactical and transporter expertise. Lieutenant Uhura, putting the previous communications officer to shame with her thoroughness and efficiency. Lieutenant Sulu, pulling off extremely delicate maneuvers around Saturn, not long after fighting for his life in the skies above Vulcan. Dr. McCoy, successfully carrying out the duties of CMO with half the staff he should have had, the rest lost with Dr. Puri in the _Narada_'s initial attack.

A Mr. Scott-- and just where the hell had he come from, anyway?-- somehow implementing transwarp beaming to return Kirk to the _Enterprise_, then performing several other feats Pike would have sworn were impossible in the capacity of Acting Chief Engineer. The cadet who'd shouldered the burden of the department after Olson's death deserved special recognition, as well; her specialty was in computer programming and troubleshooting, but Lieutenant Gaila had managed to keep the technicians organized and ship-wide repairs underway until a more experienced hand could take over.

Commander Spock, upholding his duty to the best of his abilities in the face of unimaginable loss-- then following the questionably legal orders of a man he had every reason to mistrust without apparent resentment in a successful raid to deprive the Romulans of their world-destroying weapon.

And then there was Kirk himself. Pike sighed and shook his head.

He had once dared the delinquent Kirk had been to do better, to improve on the record of his father; and by God, he had risen to the challenge. George Kirk had been Captain of the _Kelvin_ for twelve minutes, during which time he'd saved eight hundred lives; the lives Jim Kirk had saved since assuming command of the _Enterprise_ could be numbered in the _billions_.

What was there to do with him now, realistically, but slap him on the shoulder and point him forward? Not in the center seat of the Federation's flagship, of course-- until 'Fleet told him otherwise this was still Pike's ship-- but definitely in a gold command tunic. The service needed more officers like him, like his makeshift crew, especially now when every media eye would be watching. Allowing Kirk's academic suspension to stand, or bringing him up on charges for every regulation he'd broken in the last forty-eight hours, would be a travesty, no matter how much the erstwhile cadet-Lieutenant might actually deserve it.

That didn't mean Pike wasn't going to administer the most thorough dressing-down of his life, of course. There were ways to get around obstacles in the pursuit of duty, and then there were _ways_. Unlike many of his peers, Pike didn't think Kirk needed any lessons in facing his fears: he'd seen the young man's juvenile record, after all, and knew perfectly well how to read between the lines. But Kirk's reflexive response to that fear would become even more of a problem if he didn't learn how to keep it in check.

Too smart to waste and too reckless to trust, some might say. But seasoning would come with time. The courage, quickness of mind, and determination that came to Kirk as easily as breathing were far rarer gifts.

Pike tapped out a nonurgent request for Kirk to find him when he had a spare moment, then shut off the datascreen and closed his eyes.

His ship was in good hands, for now. It was safe to rest.


	2. Pressing the Point

He wakes to the sound of a soft whirr by his ear: Dr. McCoy running another of his innumerable scans, brow furrowed and mouth turned down at one side. Christopher Pike is pretty sure what that expression means, but he's not going to ask. Time enough for that when they get back to Earth.

A sour weight drags at the back of his throat; he swallows, and resolutely banishes it from his thoughts along with all the other loose threads of his time aboard the _Narada_. He survived; whatever else happens in the future, he's going to count that as a win.

"Sir, you asked to see me?"

And there he is: the one mostly to thank for Pike being here to consider the definition of winning at all.

He glances toward the door to meet bright blue eyes, framed by evidence of recent bruising; not quite as bad as their first meeting in that bar near the Riverside shipyards, but the finger marks encircling Kirk's throat are something else again. Pike hears Dr. McCoy make a disgruntled noise from beside the bed; then the Acting CMO moves hastily across the room, waving his diagnostic tools in Kirk's direction.

"Jesus, Jim, why didn't you tell me it was that bad?" McCoy clucks at the bruising, then pokes a finger into Kirk's ribs, and the lieutenant-- Pike supposes he's back to Acting First Officer now, given that Spock has yet to clear himself of "emotionally compromised" status-- winces, swatting at the doctor's hand.

"Stop it, Bones. You can get your hands on me later. I'm here to report to the Captain."

"You wouldn't have come down here yet otherwise, I know." McCoy grumbles. "Well, there's nothing life-threateningly wrong with you at the moment, but don't come crying to me when the adrenaline finally wears off and you really start to feel it."

Pike clears his throat. As entertaining as this conversation is, it's not why he requested Kirk's presence, and if the young man has to stand there awhile feeling the consequences of a day's worth of picking fights with opponents stronger than himself, so much the better. Maybe it'll give him a little more perspective.

"Doctor," he prompts, as both men turn to look at him. "If you would?" He gestures toward the door.

McCoy glances to Kirk first, a brief but telling movement, before nodding. "All right. Page me if you need anything; I'll be keeping an eye on the monitors." He packs up his tools, then ducks out the door of the private isolation room, patting Kirk on the shoulder as he goes.

Pike sighs. "Good friend of yours, I take it," he says. He remembers picking them up on the same recruiting drive, seeing both their names on the reports from Kirk's three attempts at the _Kobayashi Maru_, but hadn't known they were that well acquainted until the incident on the bridge on the way to Vulcan. Cadets of such different ages, and different specialties, rarely bonded that deeply. But then, Kirk seems to have a special gift for inspiring exasperated affection in almost anyone he deigns to turn on the charm for; Pike has already seen the early symptoms in Spock's careful wording of the last day's adventures, and _that_ is yet another thing he'd never have seen coming at the beginning of this mission.

It's a good talent for a commanding officer to have-- when used in moderation. That would comfort Pike more if he could be sure Kirk even knows what the word 'moderation' means.

"The best," Kirk nods, then frowns, just a faint line between his brows. He straightens up into something approximating formal posture, folding his hands behind his back, and clears his throat. "Sir, I'm aware he violated regulations in bringing me aboard the _Enterprise_ while I was on academic suspension--"

"And was that your idea, or his, I wonder?" Pike interrupts him, then waves that away. "Never mind. That's not what I asked you to come down here for. How you got on the ship is irrelevant, considering I technically authorized your presence when I made you Acting First Officer. What you did with that authority after I gave it to you, however, _is_."

Pike's voice drops lower, sterner, on that last sentence; a muscle jumps satisfactorily in the younger officer's jaw in response. "Sir," Kirk acknowledges, noncommittally.

Pike waits a moment; Kirk wouldn't be Kirk if he didn't have more to say, and Pike isn't trying to cram him into a perfect Starfleet mold-- just sandpaper the edges down a little.

Sure enough, after a brief pause, Kirk speaks up again. "If I may, sir-- why _did_ you name me Acting First Officer?"

Pike considers that a moment. "I had my reasons," he finally says. He'd seen the way the two had interacted in the interrupted hearing, and in the argument before their arrival at Vulcan. If Spock was capable of supporting Kirk's logic as sound bare seconds after threatening to drag the man off the bridge, then they were capable of working together to run the ship for however long was necessary-- that, and his gut had told him their diametrically opposed natures would make for a well-balanced team.

His gut had been right, of course. Eventually. That isn't what Kirk needs to hear at the moment, however. "Convince me I wasn't wrong."

That startles him, Pike can see: Kirk's eyes widen a little, and some of the conviction in his stance fades. "I thought Bones filled you in on what happened--? Or Spock? I know he was down here for awhile."

He can't have honestly thought he'd get away with that. No, this is Kirk: he's simply trying every alternative, however unlikely, to get out of something he'd really rather not do. That means he's nervous, Pike realizes; good. Though God knows why-- Kirk had stared down the Admirals on the Academy review board with arrogance writ in every line of his body; what makes him care about Pike's opinion?

"Humor me, Mr. Kirk," he says, with a slight, challenging curve of his lips. "I want to hear it again, from your perspective."

Kirk swallows, then nods sharply and draws a deep breath. "Understood. Uh. You want it all? I mean, starting from the spacedrop?"

"That would be fine, Lieutenant. Proceed."

Kirk startles a little at the rank, and looks reflexively down at the blank black sleeves of the uniform undertunic he's still wearing. No officer's stripes there, though Pike's sure he's imagined the three bands of a Captain shining on gold fabric at least once in the last several hours. The line of his jaw firms; then he looks back up, shadows darkening his eyes, and begins.

Pike lets him tell it all almost without interruption; it seems to be enough to merely narrow his eyes, raise a brow, or frown when Kirk's descriptions get noticeably vague or hyperbolic. He only speaks up once-- regarding the identity of the elderly 'future Vulcan' Kirk had encountered, and left behind, on Delta Vega-- but Kirk refuses to elaborate, staring at the bulkhead over Pike's bed and insisting that the man is better left nameless.

"It's hardly relevant, sir," he insists, gravely. "He had knowledge I needed, but that knowledge was a function of when he came from, not who he is."

He pauses, then adds: "Besides, I promised."

Loyalty, to a near stranger whose request was likely to cause Kirk a great deal of personal difficulty. The concept is intriguing enough that Pike lets it go for the moment; he'll quiz him about it again later, if it becomes necessary. Still, it's beginning to look as though Kirk's conscientious behavior since the _Narada_'s destruction might not be quite the fluke it appears.

That theme continues to thread through the rest of Kirk's report: his use of language shifts from primarily self-centric to embrace a generous sprinkling of _we_ and _he_ and _she_ and _they_. Pike recognizes the tone of a commander justifiably proud of his subordinates, and is struck by the contrast with the vid he'd seen of Kirk's last attempt at the _Kobayashi Maru_. Hell, by every exhibition of Kirk's all-eyes-on-me behavior he's been copied on since putting his name down as the young man's official sponsor to the Academy three years ago.

Kirk has aced every test of knowledge put in front of him, is top of his class in survival strategies and tactical analysis, is experienced enough in hand-to-hand combat (at least, with opponents of human-level strength) to serve as Assistant Instructor in the Academy's advanced course, and even, for some reason he's never shared, participates in the Xenolinguistics club-- where, if not the most talented of its members, he holds his own. People turn to him like flowers to the sun; but he has never, not that Pike's ever seen, acted as though he's anything other than the marquee star in his own holovid production.

Not until now. Pike sincerely hopes that this is proof that the boy is finally growing up. Only time will tell, but he allows himself to be cautiously reassured by the admiring quirk at the corner of Kirk's mouth as he discusses "Scotty's" last second save when the _Enterprise_ had been moments from being pulled into the _Narada_'s singularity.

He wonders, for a moment, what Kirk would have been like had Nero never traveled back through time-- had George Kirk never died aboard the _Kelvin_ and his son enrolled in the Academy at a standard age rather than as a ne'er-do-well of twenty-two. He wonders what his own life would have been like in that universe. Would he still have been captain of the _Enterprise_? How much of his fate was his own to make, and how much pre-determined?

Fruitless thoughts. This is the only reality that matters, as far as he's concerned. And in this reality, Kirk still awaits his dressing-down, and the tingling in his legs is acting up again.

Pike wants to make sure that the lessons of this mission, above all, stay with him.

"And would you do it all again? Exactly the same way?" Pike asks, his tone a challenge. From all evidence, that's still the best way anyone's ever found to motivate this young man, bar none.

Kirk raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth to answer, but Pike cuts him off before any cocky words can escape. "Think it over," he adds, ominously. "Be sure of your answer."

The golden brows lower, then draw together; Kirk stares at him a moment, clearly trying to figure out what the hell Pike wants him to say and tailor his response accordingly. Of course, he's assuming there's a right answer at this point in the conversation.

Finally, Kirk nods, sharply. "In retrospect, I realize that several of the actions I took on this mission could be viewed as rash, and poorly thought out. Particularly my argument with Mr. Spock on the bridge. However, in each of those situations I acted only to preserve this ship, its crew, its Captain, and the Federation at large-- as the results of my actions bear out."

"Argument," Pike comments. "That's a mild word for insubordinate conduct and attempting to assault a superior officer." He watches for Kirk's wince, then continues. "But I digress. Your argument, then, is that the ends justify the means?"

Kirk is quick enough to see the landmine waiting in _that_ query, but doesn't seem to know how to step around it, either. "No, sir. However--"

Pike talks right over him. He's had time to think about which examples to play devil's advocate with, and he wants to get them over with. "Hindsight may be twenty-twenty, but it doesn't show the full picture, either. For example. After you landed on the drill, you say you tackled the first Romulan by hand-- a being _known_ to be several times stronger than a human-- and only _then_ attempted to engage him with your phaser, which he immediately knocked out of your hands."

Kirk nods, warily.

"You wasted-- how much time fighting with that Romulan after your weapon was lost, not to mention damaging Lieutenant Sulu's parachute in the struggle? Tell me, Kirk. If you'd drawn your phaser _first_, do you think you might have been able to shut the drill down more quickly?"

Unspoken, the rest of that question hangs in the air between them, as the blood drains from Kirk's face: _Do you think you could have saved Vulcan, if you'd stopped screwing around a little sooner?_

Realistically, Pike knows the answer is _no_. The _Narada_ had been drilling into Vulcan for hours by the time the _Enterprise_ had arrived; whatever measurements of pressure and temperature beneath the planet's surface were required to set off a chain reaction with the Red Matter were likely already well within the margin of error. But these questions _will_ be asked, if not by him then someone else; better they be asked now, before the subspace comms are repaired and the inevitable conversations with Earth begin.

He continues. "Speaking of Lieutenant Sulu's parachute. When the _Enterprise_ attempted to beam the both of you to safety, was it really necessary to dive after the lieutenant when he fell from the platform? If the transporter techs had the ability to retrieve both of you while falling, at whatever rate of speed, then they would have been able to catch one alone; while if they couldn't, you would have deprived the ship of both helmsman and First Officer at the same time.

"I don't think you understood, then or now, just how lucky you were that that didn't happen. Because when the chance came to make use of the fact that you had survived and advise the Captain about what course of action should be taken, not only did you express your opinions in an insubordinate and unproductive manner, you chose to do so _in front of the crew_, making it even less likely that he would listen to anything you had to say."

Kirk had frowned rebelliously at the comment about Sulu, some of the color coming back to his cheeks. The frown is fading now into a vaguely abashed expression, but stubbornness is still written in every line of his stance: jaw firm, back ramrod straight, just as at his academic hearing.

"You let your personal resentment get in the way of your professionalism, something that, I might add, Spock had managed to avoid up until that point," Pike pointed out. "His decision to maroon you afterward was perhaps excessive, but not unearned.

"There's no way of knowing what might have happened if the _Enterprise_ hadn't delayed in order to leave you on Delta Vega. Could you have convinced Spock to go to Earth if you'd approached him more reasonably? Would the ship have reached Earth sooner then, without the detour toward the Laurentian System? Was the information you learned from your nameless time traveling Vulcan ultimately crucial to ending the threat Nero posed to the Federation, or could you have come up with a solution without it?

"And finally, how do you justify beaming onto the _Narada_ with Spock instead of sending a security detail? You were the Acting Captain, and he was the only other command-capable officer on the ship, improbable as that sounds. Had your mission failed, you would have crippled the _Enterprise_'s capacity to further react to the crisis. As it was, given your personal-- and dare I say it, emotionally compromising-- connection to the mission at hand, Nero was able to nearly fatally distract you at a crucial moment. Fractions of a second more delay, and we'd all be a smear of atoms in the vortex of a black hole."

His voice is growing hoarse; he'd talked more than he'd ever wanted to in the last couple of days. He swallows, but does not glance toward the pitcher on the stand by the bed; he keeps his eyes locked on Kirk, waiting for the young man's reaction.

"Well?" he prompts.

Kirk visibly gathers himself, then meets Pike's gaze fiercely. "You once told me that my father leaped without looking," he says, slowly and clearly, "that it was something you admired about him, something you thought Starfleet had lost. When I landed on that platform, when I saw Sulu falling, when Spock refused to even consider the possibility of following the _Narada_ to Earth-- okay, so maybe I need some remedial diplomatic coursework in how to call your superior on his bullshit without pissing him off, but in each and every one of those situations, I went with my instincts, and each time, it paid off. It might not always have been the best of all possible solutions, but it _worked_. We're all still here to argue about it, and whatever else happens, I'm going to go with that.

"I'll take whatever consequences the Admiralty decides to dish out, but I could no more let Sulu fall off that platform alone, or let the _Enterprise_ abandon Earth, or send Spock to the _Narada_ without my support than I could turn down your dare back in Iowa. Sir."

Pike lets the tension build a moment more, taking in the strength and certainty radiating from the other man, then lets out a long breath. He's not exactly relieved; how could he be, given how much Kirk reminds him of not only the father Pike had studied so thoroughly for his dissertation, but also of his own younger, rawer self. It worries him, too, how quick Kirk is to seek out the more violent options. All the same, he's surer now of what his recommendation will be to Command.

"Good," he says, firmly. "I'm glad to hear it."

There's a stunned pause, which Pike uses to finally, casually, reach for a glass of water and drink; then Kirk's jaw drops open in a very satisfying way. "Wait-- _what_?"

"It's all very well to leap without looking," Pike informs him, smiling crookedly. "My ship's doctor back on the _Yorktown_, Phil Boyce, once told me that a man either lives life as it happens to him, meets it head-on, and licks it, or he turns his back on it and starts to wither away. He was right. The trick is to be able to stand by your decisions afterward, whatever the rumblings from the chain of command, and to have a good crew to back you up when things do go wrong.

"You were born for this, Jim. First Officer Kirk. Your temper's going to get you killed someday if you don't get a handle on it-- that or your libido-- but you have the instincts, and you have the will for command. Mutiny aside, I'm not sure I'd have done any differently in your position, at your age. If I can, I'm going to get that field promotion confirmed for you at least as far as Commander, provided you pass the exams when we get back; you'd be wasted as just another tactical officer, and Starfleet's going to need all the talented Captains and XO's they can get their hands on after everything that's happened."

Kirk gapes for a moment longer. It's not an expression he wears very often; Pike basks in it while it lasts, seizing his victories where he can.

"_Thank_ you, sir," Kirk finally says. "I don't know what to say."

Pike shakes his head. "Just remember this: it's not about _you_ anymore, and it never will be again. Every decision you make from now on is going to impact hundreds of other lives under your authority, and you will be accountable to them for every risk you take. Do you think you can handle that, son?"

Kirk's chin goes up, and that light comes back into his eyes; the one Pike had seen glimpses of, earlier, highlighting the important roles other crewmembers had played in the _Enterprise_'s misadventures. "Yes, sir, I can."

And damn if he doesn't believe him. Pike isn't sure whether to feel proud, or alarmed, or upstaged at this moment, so he takes a deep breath and waves a hand toward the door. "Then go on out there. Let the doctor patch you up, catch some rest if you can, and bring our ship home."

There's only one reply Kirk can give to that, and he does, with a bright, glowing grin.


	3. Pressing Sail

The subspace comms were finally repaired on the third morning of their return journey, and with them _Enterprise_'s connection with Starfleet Command. It brought home the reality of their situation in a way that none of the events of the preceding few days had; the adrenaline and the shock were fading, and it was time to begin dealing with the long-term consequences of Nero's attacks.

Christopher Pike had been hoping to avoid that until they got back to Earth. He knew himself well enough to fear that he didn't have the energy to both fully process everything that had happened, and keep up the wise Captainly façade that his very young crew soaked up like sponges when they stopped in to see him. Unfortunately, the slow speed of their return journey had made denial impractical to sustain.

He should have listened to his own lecture to Kirk. _Captain, lead thyself_. They'd had one chance at stopping that drill, and he'd taken it; the loss of Vulcan, his own pain, and the additional deaths the _Narada_ had inflicted on its path to Earth despite Pike's efforts did not invalidate those crucial minutes when Kirk and Sulu had reenabled the transporters and with them the chance to save a fragment of Earth's oldest allies and the heritage that had made them the complex, vital, and _logical_ people that they were. In the course of that decision, he'd also named Kirk First Officer-- and Kirk had repaid him a thousand times over, saving the people Pike's willing captivity had endangered.

None of that changed how he _felt_ about what had happened, though. Despite the truth toxin that had made it impossible for him to deny Nero what the insane Romulan had wanted from him, despite the knowledge that _everyone_ broke eventually regardless, the fact that he'd _talked_ at all still burned at him, like shrapnel embedded under the surface of his soul. The betrayal of the frequencies for the border protection grids was always there in the back of his thoughts; he could sense the Admirals' judgment in every clarification they asked for and every careful glance they gave him.

It wasn't the first time Pike had been caged against his will, nor the worst, but it never got any easier, and he wasn't as resilient as he'd once been. Phil Boyce had told him once, back before Talos, that he set standards for himself that no one else could meet; he liked to think that he'd found a better equilibrium since then, but it was hard to remember the lessons of maturity when the costs of his recent decisions were still so raw.

He had a sinking feeling that no matter how quickly he got back on his feet-- and he would, thank God, McCoy had begun muttering about "recovery" rather than "impairment" the last time he'd checked him over-- Command wasn't going to let him stay out here among the stars where he belonged. He'd had a hard enough time with the mandatory therapy sessions after his five-year mission aboard the _Yorktown_; Starfleet's current obsession with officers they could _rely_ on didn't mesh well with unique solutions and extenuating circumstances. He was going to make them fight for it, though; the promise of _Enterprise_ had kept him going over the last few groundbound years, and he wasn't going to give her up after just a few _days_ without so much as a whimper.

The Dean of Starfleet Academy was the last caller to get through to him before McCoy called up to Lt. Uhura with a litany of dire threats. Admiral Barnett was a friend of Pike's; not a close one, but they'd worked together since the _Yorktown_ had been transferred to Number One's command. The price of getting his First her own ship and securing the future flagship for himself had been a temporary desk job, recruiting for the Academy and involving himself in the shaping of future starship captains. Pike didn't always agree with Barnett, but over time they'd come to understand one another fairly well.

Unless, of course, the topic at hand had something to do with Jim Kirk.

"I've read the highlights of your reports, Chris, and Kirk's too, but I still find the whole thing rather difficult to believe," the older officer addressed him, forehead creased into a disgruntled frown. "It's a miracle that any of us are alive at all, and I don't just mean the odds that were against us to begin with. I'm not sure whether I'm more tempted to award the kid a medal, or lock him up and delete the keycode."

Pike understood the feeling; there'd been times in the past few years when he'd wondered whether he'd been mistaken in believing Kirk could ever live up to his potential-- most recently the moment the cadet had stormed onto the bridge of the _Enterprise_ when Pike knew damned well he'd been suspended from active duty. And Barnett had never trusted Kirk to begin with. "I know what you mean, Richard. But he pulled through for us when it counted, and he didn't do it alone."

Barnett shook his head again, as though he didn't want to hear it. "Kirk might be top of his class in tactics and survival, but that hardly makes up for his shortcomings. You were there for his disciplinary hearing! Are you out of your mind, leaving him in charge of the _Federation flagship_ when the action was over? Why didn't you transfer command to one of your more solid officers?"

"You said you've read the reports," Pike shrugged, stifling his frustration with the other man's obstinacy. He'd already explained his decision in his logs; Barnett just didn't want to hear it. "You know how much of the command structure was lost. Who do you think I should have replaced him with? Commander Spock, who'd already removed himself from consideration? Lieutenant Uhura, who hasn't yet completed the command track qualifications? Or Lieutenant Sulu, who's spent the year since he was commissioned ferrying diplomats around in shuttles?" All excellent officers, and easily capable of holding the conn for a shift, but a little unready for full authority over an entire Constitution-class starship. Not that Kirk was technically much more prepared, but he had a certain instinct for it that just couldn't be taught.

No need to even mention Chekov, who'd been aboard to earn his student-officer experience credits; the Russian whiz kid still had a couple of years' worth of coursework to complete. Or the engineer Kirk had picked up on Delta Vega; lieutenant commander or not, all Pike knew about Scott beyond his technical ability was that he had the personal enmity of Admiral Archer. Not exactly a ringing endorsement.

Barnett spread his hands wide in front of the vidscreen pickup. "I'm just saying, I realize the kid's a damn hero now and he has a reputation for being charming, but that ego of his is not enough to hold a crew together!" He sounded genuinely distressed, which eased Pike's irritation a little; he really did believe he had the ship's best interests in mind.

"You'd be surprised," he replied, wryly. "Right now, I think Kirk's bullheadedness is keeping the ship going at least as much as the impulse engines; the crew are taking their cues from him, and it's keeping them too busy and focused to dwell on what they've been through. If you can't trust me when I tell you that he's got more raw talent for command than any cadet I've seen in years, then trust the facts; you're the one who's kept me up to date on his academic achievements. His _ego_ alone doesn't explain how he completed four years of coursework in three, _without_ sacrificing either a very active social life _or_ outstanding grades. I thought it prudent to let him test his leadership skills outside of combat while the opportunity was available, and he's holding up to the challenge remarkably well.

"Besides." Pike paused for emphasis, meeting Barnett's gaze squarely. There was more in play here than just what Kirk might or might not deserve on his own merits; the careful framing of the day's previous conversations had told him at least that much. "Whatever happens next, I doubt Command will be able to afford the luxury of letting him climb the ranks the usual way; I think you know that already."

Barnett sighed, slumping forward a little at his desk, and rubbed at his forehead. "I do. I'd have preferred you or Commander Spock, for reasons that should be obvious, but-- the backlash is already beginning. Starfleet is going to need a heroic image to rally around in the immediate future, and the captain who led the _Enterprise_ to victory is the best we're going to get. The Romulans are claiming no official connection to the attacks, of course, but they're already using the 'expectation of unjust retaliation' as an excuse to stir up even more activity on their side of the Neutral Zone, and the Klingons have been equally agitated since the reported loss of their fleet near Rura Penthe. Whether _they_ blame the Romulan Empire or not, they're likely to initiate hostilities with _someone_ as a way to recoup their lost honor, and the destruction at Vulcan is going to make the Federation look like the weaker target in the short run.

"And those are only the obvious external threats; the anti-Vulcanoid movement that sprang up years ago after the destruction of the _Kelvin_ is flaring up again. There have been several demonstrations in the last few days, and besides the attack itself, there's been precious little else for the newsfeeds to focus on. We've been withholding casualty lists until we could make contact with you again, and noone's heard a peep from the Vulcan Embassy in days; understandable, since the loss of a planetful of telepaths probably made quite an impact on the survivors, but unfortunate in terms of political spin. I'm afraid you're going to have to resign yourselves to a media blitz the second you arrive in spacedock, Chris."

Pike winced, and suppressed the urge to rub his own forehead at the thought. "I'll make sure the crew is warned," he replied, "as well as our guests. We can beam the Ambassador and the elders directly to the Embassy when we arrive, but there won't be enough room there for the rest of the Vulcan refugees."

Barnett frowned thoughtfully. "We'll make sure something is arranged. It'll be weeks before the Federation Council gets any significant work done, even on a matter as urgent as establishing a new Vulcan homeworld, and in the meantime I'm sure they'd prefer we keep the harassment to a minimum."

"We're in agreement there," Pike replied, with a tired smile.

"Speaking of Vulcans," Barnett added, after a moment's heavy pause. "Has Commander Spock given any indication as to his future plans?"

"No, not yet." Pike shook his head. "I hadn't thought it polite to ask."

Even if he had, he didn't think Spock was in any state of mind to be making firm decisions at the moment. The recordings of his encounter on the bridge with Kirk upon Kirk's return from exile had proven as much, though both had downplayed the encounter when they'd discussed it with him later. Pike had known that Vulcans were theoretically capable of great feeling under their cold surfaces-- he could hardly have escaped his own Academy training without learning the basic cultural characteristics of the Federation's founding species-- but he'd never witnessed it in person, and had certainly not expected such an outburst from the young man he'd chosen as successor to Number One.

He wouldn't blame Spock if he chose to return to his father's people in the aftermath of their near extinction. But somehow he doubted that the _logical_ path would hold much appeal for the man on that recording, the one whose passions were nearer to the surface than Pike would have believed. He'd nominated Spock for his XO partially to balance out his own style of command, a strategy that had also informed his choice of Kirk as Acting First Officer when he'd transferred command to Spock, but when it had come to the assault on Nero's vessel Spock had taken another tack entirely. Perhaps in an ordinary situation he would remain a stabilizing influence, but during the crisis he had reinforced and amplified Kirk's intensity rather than restraining it, even when they'd been in conflict about their goals.

Pike had chosen wiser than he'd known when he'd picked the half-Vulcan for his command team. And in the event that it took Pike longer to heal than it took the engineers to repair his ship-- well. Starfleet could do worse; a damn sight worse.

Barnett sighed. "He's been one of our best instructors, these last four years-- the students tend to find him standoffish, but the ones who pick up on what Spock's trying to teach them have a tendency to turn into stellar officers. I knew we wouldn't get to keep him here once _Enterprise_ launched, but I'd been looking forward to seeing what he'd accomplish out there, too."

"Only time will tell." About that, as about so many other things.

"Too true." The admiral drummed his fingers against the PADD on his desk a few times, then nodded to him. "Well, I suppose I'd better leave you to rest. I'll need to start informing the families, now that we know how many-- how many of the cadets-- well." He swallowed, abruptly looking every moment of his age. "We'll hold the ceremony a few days, until after you arrive, but the fact that there aren't any bodies, or even any debris to bury because of that damned black hole..." He trailed off again.

The image of the _Mayflower_'s saucer section, broken and drifting toward _Enterprise_\-- the largest single fragment in a field of death and destruction that had once been six whole, shining ships-- floated up from Pike's subconscious; the horror of that shocking instant flooded back through him, and he closed his eyes to regain his composure.

Barnett paused briefly, then cleared his throat and continued. "I think everything else can wait until you return," he said, gruffly. "Try not to trip over any more disasters on your way back. The escort ships we called back from the primary fleet should catch up with you sometime tomorrow, but we'd prefer it if you didn't actually need their assistance."

"Understood," Pike replied, opening his eyes again and giving the man a curt nod.

The admiral nodded back, then reached toward his vidscreen. Before he shut the connection off, however, he hovered for a long moment, strain and sympathy drawing lines on his face. "I'm sorry, Chris. I truly am."

"I know, Richard," he replied, roughly. "I know."

"Barnett, out."

Pike stared into the empty screen for a long breath, then scrubbed a hand over his face. Three more days of this, he had to look forward to; three more days stuck in this limbo of both suspense and reprieve, before all of their lives changed-- in one way or another.

Heavy-hearted, he reached back behind the bed to flatten a palm against the nearest bulkhead, and allowed himself a moment to grieve. Then he pulled back, clicked the comm to summon Lt. Chapel for more headache medication, and pulled the shreds of his dignity back together.

He was still the captain of the _Enterprise_, however long that might last. And the Captain could never let his crew see him bleed.


	4. Relieving Pressure

By the fourth morning Christopher Pike wakes up in the sickbay of the _USS Enterprise_, he is heartily sick of his surroundings, his circumstances, his own emotional reactions to the above, and just about every other facet of his current existence. It does him no good to have an active communications console and every bit of data in the computer banks at his disposal, when what he _really_ craves is the hum of the ship's engines under his boots and the controls of his command chair at his fingertips. Or at the very least, if he can't have the stars, then the wind of Earth in his hair: the taste of salt air, the scents of horse and leather, or the sharp metal-and-ozone reek of a shipyard in full operation.

An argument with the irascible Dr. McCoy about the more unpleasant side effects of the neuro-treatment drugs has to suffice instead, followed by a long, half-unspoken conversation over subspace relay with Number One. His former First claims the dark shadows under her eyes are from recent long shifts patrolling the increasingly unstable Neutral Zone; he knows better, from the restrained quiver in her lip and the tightening of the lines around her eyes when she first sees him, but he doesn't call her out on her lie. Given present political realities, it will be a long time before Command calls the _Yorktown_ back to Starbase One, and they both know it. For the moment, it has to be enough that she knows _he_ didn't die with the rest of the Home Fleet at Vulcan, and that he knows _she_ is still holding the line.

He spends the rest of the morning firing communiqués back and forth all over the quadrant, touching other contacts in the 'Fleet for news on the general mood, both aboard ship and in the Federation at large. It paints a picture both brighter and darker, depending on locale, than what he'd heard from Barnett and the rest of the brass back at HQ; even the ones farther out, whose messages take hours to return, have heard about the massacre and the species identity of the attackers. So much for any long deep-space missions in the foreseeable future. Whatever _Enterprise_'s stated mission in the coming years, she'll likely spend at least as much time showing the flag and defending vulnerable member worlds as pushing the boundaries of exploration.

As if that isn't depressing enough, right in the middle of the flurry of replies the final casualty lists from the Battle of Vulcan arrive in his message queue.

Pike stares at the header on the information packet for several moments, wondering whether it would be easier to just open the thing and get it over with or put it off until he can dredge up a little more emotional fortitude. It is directed simply to "Captain, _USS Enterprise_," a title most of the crew are still rather liberally applying to Kirk as well as himself, but a quick check of the electronic fingerprint shows that Communications hasn't forwarded _that_ particular memorandum to the younger officer yet. As if it will hit Pike, who'd probably recruited a good third of the names on those lists, any less harshly than it would the man who'd attended the Academy with most of them.

Thank God the _Enterprise_'s transporters had come up in time to rescue at least a _few_ escape pods before Vulcan and everything in its immediate vicinity had been sucked into the newly formed black hole. The _Narada_'s attack had been sudden, thorough, and hadn't spared any of the command crews, but a sparse few younger officers and crewmen had survived long enough to be picked up during the rush to rescue as many Vulcan children, teachers, and other centrally-gathered prioritized individuals they could; a handful of precious flowers salvaged from a sudden frost. Pike sighs, makes a mental note to make sure commendations are heaped upon the overworked crews manning the secondary transporter rooms and shuttlecraft bays, and reaches to tap the screen and bring up the file.

Before his finger can make contact with its smooth surface, however, an authoritative voice interrupts. "I know that expression," Dr. McCoy says, standing just inside the door of Pike's isolation room with arms crossed over his chest and a hypospray held loosely in one hand. "I've seen it on Jim often enough. So whatever it is you're working yourself up for, you can either pass it off to him or set it aside for later."

"I can, can I?" Pike replies, a mixture of amusement and irritation tugging at the corner of his mouth. He _hates_ being treated like an invalid, even when he technically is one.

"You can, and you _will_," McCoy corrects himself, frowning at him and gesturing in a vaguely ominous manner with the hypospray. "Just because you're feeling a lot clearer doesn't mean your neurochemistry isn't still out of whack, not to mention a large percentage of your motor nerve responses. Brainstem injury isn't something to mess around with. If you stress yourself into making the problem worse before I get you back to Starfleet Medical, Dr. Boyce will have my hide."

The amusement wins out; Pike can well imagine the messages that must be flying between Phil and the _Enterprise_'s acting CMO. No wonder he hadn't got through to his friend earlier in the day. McCoy has been something of a protégé of Phil's ever since the doctor slash bartender retired from starship travel to take over Starfleet Academy's medical program, but neither man is the type to mince words, and Phil hadn't liked the idea of Pike going off into space again with any physician but himself, not even the experienced and well-recommended Dr. Puri.

"I'll take that under advisement," Pike says, then narrows his eyes at McCoy as something else occurs to him. "In the meantime, perhaps there's something you can help me with, doctor."

McCoy's scowl deepens noticeably, but not in his direction; the nearest bulkhead takes the brunt of it instead. "If it's to do with Jim, don't worry, I'm keeping tabs on him. I plan on tackling him again after your lunch meeting unless something more urgent comes up; Sulu's perfectly capable of holding the conn for a few hours while I knock him out and run him under the dermal regen a few more times. He'll be pretty again in plenty of time for the cameras, you'll see."

Pike can't help but raise his eyebrows at that. McCoy couldn't be farther from the subject he wants to address-- but he supposes it does relate, in a way, and it _is_ good that someone is policing Kirk's health while the Acting First Officer is busy trying to be in twelve places at once. "That... wasn't actually my first concern," he says carefully, "but I appreciate your tactical foresight. I'd actually been meaning to ask about something else-- you mentioned yesterday that Lieutenant Chapel and some of the other junior officers were working on an informal counseling arrangement for the worst-hit crew members?"

McCoy nods, forbidding expression fading into something genuinely troubled. "Yeah. Most of the crew's holding up pretty well, and Jim's been keeping them busy with repairs and such, but more and more of them are going to start crashing now that things are calming down and we're in contact with Earth again. Several people have come in for help, or been brought in by their shiftmates and friends, but we've been concerned about the ones who _aren't_ reaching out to others."

"Will you see to it that they get this, then?" Pike asks, tapping the controls to download a copy of the file onto one of the PADDs scattered on the bedside table. Then he holds it out toward the doctor. "Final 'Fleet casualty lists just came in. I'll get Kirk a copy for the memorial service he's planning to hold before we hit dock, but personal notices ahead of time would probably be a good idea."

McCoy takes it, lines around his mouth deepening as he brings up the list and begins paging through it. "Might be a good idea to break it gently to _him_, too," he says as he reads. "I don't know if he's thought about it yet, but you know he took that training cruise on the _Farragut_ last year?"

"I'm aware," Pike nods. Starfleet makes a habit of offering such opportunities to promising command-track cadets, though Kirk's penchant for accumulating demerits as quickly as he does academic honors had nearly kept him off the list. Pike's recommendation-- and the _Farragut_'s need to replace nearly a third of her crew in the aftermath of the disaster that had taken the life of her previous Captain and left her in spacedock for several months-- had made sure he got that chance. "Captain Chenoweth is an old Academy acquaintance of mine; we had some... colorful conversations about Kirk's time aboard."

"I'll just bet you did," McCoy snorts. "So then you know about...." The doctor pauses and frowns at the screen in his hands, scrolling the display back and forth with a heavy thumb. "Well, that's interesting. No Lieutenant Mitchell. But if he's not a casualty, and he's not one of the few we rescued, then where the hell is he? Last Jim said, he was still assigned there."

"Alive somewhere else, one hopes," Pike replies, finally opening the list on his own screen. So many names-- so many lost, enough that they threaten to blur from individual tragedies into one brutal statistic-- but he won't do them that disservice, won't skim over them. All he can give them now is a moment of his time; and they deserve at least that much respect. "Unlike all too many others."

McCoy stops scrolling again on his own list, pausing on a name Pike can't see; he looks away briefly, swallowing, then lowers the PADD to his side, switching it off with abrupt movements. "Tell me about it," he agrees, roughly. "Anyone who escaped that mess deserves a celebration-- even if it _is_ Gary goddamn Mitchell."

Pike lets that line of conversation drop; he isn't the only one nursing raw emotional nerves, nor is Kirk the only unexpectedly-senior officer who's stayed on duty at virtually all hours since the attacks. All of the reconstituted command crew have been pushing their limits; if they weren't all so horribly young, they'd have started dropping days ago. "See to it that Lieutenant Chapel gets that list-- and get yourself some lunch before Kirk arrives with mine, if you're going to deal with him afterward."

McCoy acknowledges the statement with a nod, but doesn't retreat. "First things first, though." He gestures with the hypospray he'd been wielding when he'd arrived, and Pike sighs in irritated consent as McCoy leans in to whip the instrument against his neck.

"Don't spend all your time staring at that screen; doctor's orders. I'll be back to check on you in an hour."

Pike watches him go, then pinches the bridge of his nose against the frustrations of the situation at hand and the low-level discomfort still plaguing him despite the medications. Then he turns his attention back to the list, doctor's orders or no. There are some things that simply have to be done.

His eyes drift shut somewhere around the nine hundredth name.

* * *

He is feeling somewhat better despite the unintentional nap by the time the door swishes open for Kirk, bearing a pair of bowls full of something aromatic but largely unidentifiable.

"Hey, Captain. Sorry about the food," he offers with an apologetic grin as he sets the tray, a spoon, and one of the bowls down where Pike can reach them. "Scotty's been stealing replicator circuits to patch up some of the other damaged systems, so as of an hour ago we only have stew, breakfast stew, vegetarian stew, and murky coffee to choose from. It all tastes okay, but you're probably better off not trying to imagine what went into it."

"Too late," Pike snorts, bemused, then picks up the spoon and takes a careful sample. The taste _is_ better than he'd been expecting, though the texture leaves something to be desired, and his hand shakes only a little with the effort. Kirk turns to his own meal as Pike takes the next bite, carefully not paying attention. Pike finds himself simultaneously annoyed and grateful for the consideration, and quashes both irksome reactions by working on emptying the bowl as swiftly as he can.

"So," he opens the informal meeting between bites. "Aside from the replicators, what's the status of ship's systems? Was Mr. Scott able to improve the performance of the impulse engines?"

Kirk nods. "We're running at two-thirds power now; he's not enthused about the idea of pushing it any higher due to the structural damage we took, but we can probably get up to ninety percent in a pinch if we have to. We just can't stay there very long."

"Here's hoping we don't have to," Pike sighs. It's unlikely that the Romulans or the Klingons-- or any other antagonistic party eager to take advantage of a perceived Federation weakness-- will attack in the next few days, but Pike's learned from long experience that nothing in space is certain. "And the weapons systems?" he asks.

"Phasers are back online, but we seriously depleted the stock of photon torpedoes," Kirk replies, frowning pensively. "There weren't many loaded to begin with, since _Enterprise_'s first mission was supposed to be a shakedown cruise; but I didn't realize that until after we'd dealt with Nero."

"Why _did_ you fire on his ship after the Red Matter ignited?" Pike asks, setting his spoon down in his half-empty bowl. "If you'd backed off and let the black hole take care of destroying them, we'd be in spacedock already."

He'd avoided asking that question during their earlier conversation about Kirk's riskier actions; unlike his 'leaps without looking', that had plainly been a considered order. It is not one the Admiralty is likely to officially fault the then-Acting Captain for, but his rationale for the decision _is_ likely to affect their collective opinion of him and the path of his future career. The offer of assistance given before the order to fire will count in Kirk's favor-- but at first glance, the destruction of the Romulan mining vessel does appear to be a completely unnecessary indulgence, and _that_ will not.

Kirk seems to realize the seriousness of the question; his gaze is steady and focused as he answers. "I didn't like the look of that singularity; it was another 'lightning storm in space', not like the black hole that swallowed Vulcan. I wanted to be _really_ sure Nero couldn't use it to take himself back even further in time, and whatever that huge-ass ship was made of is tougher than the alloys Starfleet uses. I hope the Engineering division sets some good minds on that drill we dropped into the Bay-- we could really learn a lot from their technology."

Pike takes a moment to absorb the implications of Kirk's reply. The Federation hasn't even reached its first centennial yet as a governing body; and the invention of the Terran warp drive is only eighty years older than _that_. What havoc might Nero have wreaked, had he inserted his ship into that era? It's a miracle this ship and crew were able to defeat him as it is; would Archer and his NX-01 have had any chance? Or Cochrane in his three-man _Phoenix_? The concept is terrifying.

"Good thinking," he replies, through a suddenly dry throat.

Kirk smiles at that; a quiet, intense little smile that somehow manages to convey both smugness and pleased surprise at the praise. "I don't think it would actually have affected us, either way," he says. "Spock seems to think that the timeline Nero came from is still there, same as before, just minus one middle-aged Vulcan and most of the Romulan Empire. Something about the method of time travel and the severity of the changes made to the timeline; I didn't really follow. What it means, though, is that if Nero _had_ gone back again and fucked up the Federation, _we'd_ never have known. I'd have felt really awful about the poor bastards who _did_, though."

Pike picks that line of reasoning apart carefully, then rubs at his forehead. He trusts Spock's logic, and feels faintly relieved that they never had actually been in danger of being erased from the timeline, but the entire concept still disturbs him. "Time travel theory always gives me a headache," he complains. "You should discuss it with Admiral Archer sometime; he has some interesting stories of his own."

"Maybe one day," Kirk chuckles. "I'm not all that eager to talk to him again anytime soon; he's probably a little less than impressed with me for rescuing Scotty from his punishment."

"You could always thank him for making sure Mr. Scott was stationed exactly where you would have need of him, and thus being partially responsible for saving the Earth," Pike suggests, wryly.

Kirk raises his eyebrows at that. "I'd like to see his face if I did," he says, "but I think I'll pass."

"Probably wise," Pike replies, then can't resist adding: "Nice to see that you _do_ know the meaning of the word 'prudence'; I'd sometimes wondered."

"Only sometimes?" Kirk fires back, easily, grin brightening.

With a jolt, Pike realizes that he and Kirk have been interacting almost as equals; not that that marks much of a change in _Kirk's_ attitude, but it hadn't even occurred to Pike once during this conversation to be exasperated with him for overstepping his bounds, or for pretending to a level of competency he hadn't yet backed up with action. Kirk is definitely maturing into his responsibilities-- and none too soon, considering.

Pike recalls his conversation with Admiral Barnett, and decides that this is probably the best opportunity he'll get to bring up the subject of what's coming next. 'Starfleet is going to need a heroic image,' Richard had said; 'the captain who led the _Enterprise_ to victory.'

_Captain_. The idea still leaves a bitter taste in Pike's mouth-- for several reasons-- but he'd rather make sure it goes as smoothly as possible than create additional problems for the ship and its next commanding officer. It's going to be tough on the younger man, and his crew, as it is; the ship's stability is more important than one wounded man's ego and sense of entitlement. Pike can't tell him outright; but he _can_ squeeze in a little more informal command training and evaluation. He would prefer Kirk came to certain conclusions on his own strength, rather than as a knee-jerk reaction to the politicized nonsense the Admiralty will feed him.

He pushes aside his half-eaten lunch and studies the face of his probable replacement. There's a good foundation there, he's often thought; the openness and ability to lead his father had possessed, sharpened by hardship and sheer determination into a force that will shape the future of Starfleet one way or another. Recruiting him had been a gamble, but also, in some ways, an act of faith. One that he hopes will never prove to be misplaced.

Kirk frowns and pushes his own, emptied bowl aside as he catches Pike's change of mood. "Captain?" he prompts.

"Kirk," he replies, solemnly. "Jim. I know I've never been as hands-on with you as with most of the cadets I sponsor into the Academy."

Kirk blinks at that, wide-eyed. "Sir?" he replies. "I-- never noticed."

That, Pike doubts-- far be it from Kirk to admit to anything that might hint at an emotional vulnerability-- but he smiles anyway. "Frankly, you didn't seem to need the extra attention," he explains. "Both because it would feed your already considerable ego, and because you were just that talented. Your marks stayed high, no matter how much carousing you seemed to do, and when you _did_ make a mistake that could impact your Starfleet career you always took the advice I gave you, corrected the problem, and never made that _particular_ error again. Invented creative new ones, sometimes-- hacking the _Kobayashi Maru_ being the most egregious example-- but never repeated them. You're reckless, but not stupid; I've known that since I met you, and I always believed that if you didn't get yourself kicked out of Starfleet first, the recklessness would correct itself with time."

Kirk shifts a little, uncomfortably, in his chair. "I appreciate your confidence in me, sir," he says.

"I wouldn't have called it _confidence_ until the last few days," Pike continues, honestly. "Hope, perhaps. But _my_ evaluation of you is only going to carry so much weight with the rest of the 'Fleet, most of whom have never even had reason to _hope_ you would become a competent starship commander. You're going to have to prove to each and every one of them that you actually deserve the stripes you'll be wearing."

Kirk has located a gold lieutenant's tunic since their last conversation; he fingers the single band absently as he nods in reply. "I understand that, sir," he says, then looks away, staring at the same bulkhead McCoy had glared through earlier that morning. "I knew from the moment I decided to enlist that I was always going to be judged against _someone's_ larger-than-life reputation; I just thought it was going to be my father's, not my own."

"It's not a circumstance unique to you," Pike assures him. "It's something that affects all officers whose careers progress faster than the norm; I was the youngest officially appointed Captain in my day, you know, though obviously not as young as you're going to be."

He winces as he finishes the sentence; _in my day_, he'd said, as though that 'day' were over. He's been listening to his own worries too much. Perhaps his starship commanding days are finished-- but humans live to be well over a hundred in this technologically advanced age, and he's not going to lay down and die just yet.

"You never know," Kirk shrugs. "I _could_ end up stuck as a Commander for the rest of my career. I've certainly pissed off enough admirals."

Pike wonders what Kirk will say when those self-same admirals award him his new commission. "That's statistically pretty unlikely," he says, then shifts the thread of the conversation. "Speaking of assignments, however-- Command has been asking me for recommendations about the future placement of this crew. Some of the cadets will have coursework to complete, or extra exams to justify a field promotion--" here, he pauses to give Kirk a pointed look, "--but their commissions have all been confirmed, and the remaining veteran officers and enlisted will be given special consideration. Some may choose not to see space again; some may wait until the next ship leaves the yards, which will be in about six months if the accelerated schedule is approved; some may transfer to the main fleet-- but I think the majority will prefer to stay aboard. You can't _order_ the kind of camaraderie that develops in the wake of a crisis like this."

"I know," Kirk says appreciatively, mood visibly lifting. "Everyone's been doing an amazing job; for the most part, the crew's all acting like they've been working together for years, not days. The worst hit areas in particular-- bridge, medical, and engineering-- but I've seen it in all departments." He pauses then, and quirks a smile. "I think some of that's because of Giotto, though, not because all the personnel have suddenly decided their junior command crew is worthy of respect."

Kirk's very likely right about that. Lt. Commander Giotto is the most experienced officer aboard apart from Pike to have survived the attacks; he's confided privately that he's not particularly convinced of Kirk's suitability as a captain, but as a firm believer in Starfleet procedure, chain of command, Pike's judgment, and the responsibility placed on him as Chief of Security aboard the Federation flagship, he's willing to visibly and pointedly support the younger man's orders until commanded otherwise. It's a good thing Kirk seems to respect the man in return; things might have become difficult in that quarter, otherwise.

"I hope you realize, though," Pike continues, "that this puts me in a rather complicated position when it comes to you."

Kirk nods sharply at that. "Because of the Acting Captain thing, and how I got it. Believe me, sir, I know. I wasn't even posted to _Enterprise_ to begin with, and Spock deserves the flagship's First Officer position more than I do. Not that I want to go anywhere else-- but I figured this was coming."

Pike nods, and does his best to talk around Kirk's assumptions. "It certainly isn't because you haven't done your share of bringing the best out of her people. Or because you lack ability-- we've already had _that_ conversation." He smiles wryly. "But because you were their Captain, for however short a time, and recommending you stay aboard in any other position would have a detrimental effect on crew relations, both for yourself and for your replacement."

"Replacement...?" Kirk blinks in surprise. "Wait, do you mean you're not going to...?"

"Much as I might wish otherwise," Pike sighs, gesturing to his partially paralyzed legs. "It's going to be months before I'm on my feet again, by McCoy's best estimate, and 'Fleet needs the flagship out there _now_. I'll be lucky if they even give me my former position in Recruitment back, with an option on another ship; odds are they'll slap another stripe on my sleeve instead." This is the first time he's admitted as much out loud; the words sting his mouth as he says them.

Kirk blows out a breath at that; but says only, "I understand, sir."

"I know your initial preference was for the _Farragut_," Pike adds, judging it as good a time as any to deal with McCoy's request. "Apart from some concerns related to your off-shift behavior during your training tour, Captain Chenoweth was reportedly pleased with your performance."

Kirk's expression twists, but he doesn't flinch or look away. "I-- you're right, I'd been looking forward to working with him and Gary again." He pauses thoughtfully, then continues, filling in the rest of Pike's implications. "He might even have been alright with taking me on as First Officer instead of putting me at tactical; the Commander he had in that position was about ready for his own ship, anyway. It's unlikely that too many other starship captains will be happy to have me, though, especially if my assignment displaces their own choice of officer."

He's right; of all of them, Pike can think of only one who'd accept the assignment with equanimity, and who had a temperament that would complement Kirk's own. Provided Kirk refrained from hitting on her, of course; though the very idea of the comm call she'd send Pike afterward nearly sets him laughing. But that wasn't his only reason for bringing up the _Farragut_.

"Gary-- that would be the navigator on your shift, Lieutenant Mitchell?"

"Yes," Kirk replies, tone clipped, eyes a little bright. "We were about the same age, and got along fairly well; we'd have gone to the Academy together if I'd attended right out of secondary school like he did."

"_Are_ about the same age, Jim. _Are_," Pike corrects him, gently. "At least, as far as Starfleet knows." Quietly, he picks up another PADD, and downloads another copy of the casualty lists.

"_What_?" Kirk blurts. "But he was still on the _Farragut_ last time I talked to him! And I've already met with all the survivors-- he isn't with them."

"He wasn't at Vulcan, either," Pike says, handing over the PADD. "You'll have to check Starfleet records for his current assignment, but he wasn't aboard any of the ships at Earth when we launched."

Kirk snags the PADD from Pike's hand and taps furiously at the screen. A long moment later he pauses and takes a deep breath; then he looks up again. "I know I shouldn't feel so relieved, considering how many other people died, but--"

"He's your friend, and he's alive," Pike says, taking in the clouds building up in that blue gaze, and the jagged set of Kirk's mouth. "We can finish this conversation later, I think," he decides. "Dr. McCoy wants to see you next, but you should give Mitchell a call afterward, before you start planning the memorial service."

Kirk's grip tightens on the PADD. "My responsibilities--"

"--Also include assuring your friends that _you're_ still alive, too," Pike interrupts him. "I'm sure ship's business can survive without your presence for a few minutes. You'll feel better for it afterward, and not just you-- remember that your mood affects the crew's as well."

"I--" Kirk swallows, then gives in. "Thank you, sir."

"What are Captains for," Pike shrugs dismissively.

Kirk straightens at Pike's words and stares back at him, a gravity in his expression that Pike's seldom seen. "I think I'm beginning to learn," he says, slowly.

A weight settles on Pike's chest; for a long moment, he can't find a reply.

"Go on, then," he finally says, roughly.

Kirk salutes him, smiling crookedly, and slips out the door.


End file.
